


Just My Imagination

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hallmark Channel fuckery, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Kissing, Making Out, allusions to cunnilingus, referenced nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: After Mary leaves the boys a second time, Dean needs a reset or to blow off some steam – something. He heads out on a snowy evening the night before Christmas and finds just the right thing.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Just My Imagination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marksmanfem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marksmanfem/gifts).



“Can I buy ya a drink, sailor?”

Dean looks up from his lonely shot of whiskey into the soft, blue eyes of the prettiest little redhead he’s ever seen.

Cristina is surprised that her subject, whose reputation precedes him, holds her gaze as opposed to roaming her figure, but she won’t complain. His eyes are the warmest of greens framed by thick, dark lashes.

Dean looks into his half-full drink. “I’m, uhh… just gettin’ ready to head out.” He lifts his glass and downs the shot then waves the bartender over.

“Okay,” Cristina answers with a shrug. “How ‘bout one for the road?”

Dean’s eyes light when she snags his gaze once more. He slowly begins to grin, his shoulders dropping ever-so-slightly. “Sure,” he acquiesces, and Cristina takes a seat next to him at the bar.

As the bartender makes her way to the pair, Cristina notices Dean finally taking in her full form. He seems appreciative of it. She decides to take a chance.

“Actually, ya know what I wanna try?” She looks to Dean with a vibrant sparkle.

Dean chuckles and his grin widens. “What’s that?”

“A flight!” she answers clapping her hands and barely containing her excitement.

Dean laughs out loud this time. “Never had a flight of beers at a brewery before?” He eyes her as he nods to the bartender to bring them what she’s so enthusiastically chattering about.

Cristina’s never even been to a brewery before. Not that she can become intoxicated no matter how much she drinks, but she so enjoys experiences rich with spirit and warmth.

“I haven’t, no!” she answers. “This should be fun.”

Her smile is infectious – Dean can’t deny it. She’s childlike in a way, innocent, but there’s also something so engaging about her like she’s decades older than she looks, grounded and driven and bright.

Cristina senses everything at once – Dean’s endearment to her, his attraction to her, and, ultimately, his amusement.

 _Good_ , she thinks.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Dean asks.

“I’m Cristina,” she answers with a grin. “And you?”

Cristina knows his name, but she doesn’t want to spoil the mood. Dean Winchester is preceded by years’ long reputation of being a first-rate hunter of supernatural badness as well as a lady-killer in the best of ways. He’s also purported to be kind, generous, and pleasing to the eye.

“I’m Dean,” he replies, dimples prominent and a pink blush popping on his freckled cheeks.

His blush makes Cristina happy.

“Well, Dean,” she begins as the bartender places the flight of select brews between them on the bar. Cristina reaches for the closest short glass to raise it for a toast. “Here’s to a wonderful winter night.”

Dean huffs a laugh and tilts his head as he mirrors her actions. They touch glass to glass, and he holds her gaze as he sips.

She says she’s never been to a brewery, and she thinks everything is wonderful; Dean thinks that he should be concerned about her origins, but something tells him he doesn’t have to worry about anything. She’s curious, for sure, but Dean remains calm in her presence.

“Okay, let’s switch,” she says, bouncing in her seat as she flaps one hand in encouragement while shoving the other into his space with her glass.

Dean casts his eyes casually toward the mirror behind the bar _just in case_. No ugly, hairless, vaguely humanoid monstrosity in sight – so, not a siren. Just a charming, pretty girl at his side.

Dean accepts the proffered glass and takes a sip as she does. He is utterly enchanted by her company as she rambles on about the flavors in each glass. Dean makes a point to pick out each and every one she mentions, to savor them.

“What’re you doin’ here all dressed up by yourself anyway?” Dean asks once they’ve made it halfway through their flight.

“Meh,” she replies. “Got stood up.”

It’s not a total lie. Nicky was supposed to meet her then had an emergency call. Which is when Cristina, full of energy and holiday spirit, went looking for something to occupy her time and skills.

Dean looks skeptical. “Well, darlin’, whoever stood _you_ up is an idiot,” he drawls before draining another one of the tasting glasses. “You are fucking adorable.”

Cristina giggles openly. She wanted this gig, assigned it to herself, yet she’s discovering a whole new layer to the experience.

Usually, Cristina and her kind are assigned to children in need of guidance and guardianship. When the lights began to blink and Cristina saw Dean in the queue, she didn’t have the heart to follow protocol and release him as ‘adult’.

 _It’s Christmas, after all_ , she told herself and accepted the assignment as her own.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” she chirps before finishing off the last taster.

A server passes them with a tray full of fried food and Cristina’s eyes go wide.

Dean laughs. “Hungry?” he asks.

Cristina nods vigorously. “Bacon cheeseburgers are my favorite,” she says, and Dean falls into the fold just a little deeper.

“Perfect,” he says with a grin. “Hey, Nat, can we get a coupla bacon cheeseburgers, extra sauce, rings and fries?”

The bartender nods with a wink and places the order.

“Dean,” Cristina sighs. “What’s your ideal date?”

Dean is slightly taken aback by her question. Then he realizes why.

“I dunno,” he answers. “Never really been on a date.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cristina laughs. “Guy like you? Never been on a date?”

Cristina scoffs and sips her club soda. The bubbles tickle her nose, and she sneezes lightly.

“Well, not like I think you mean, anyway,” Dean watches her in amusement as he lifts the fresh bottle of beer Nat sat in front of him to his lips to take a slow pull.

It dawns on Cristina what Dean’s saying. Once again, she’s reminded of why she’s there.

“Okay, then,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Let’s make something up. Right here, from scratch. If you could go on a date – if you had all the time in the world to have fun – what would you do?”

Dean’s chest feels tight, so he exhales. He looks at himself in the mirror – battle weary and tired, done with everyone’s bullshit. He really thought tonight would be like any other bar night, that he’d end up hungover in the morning in someone else’s bed.

What Cristina’s offering him is something different.

“I’d say we’re off to a good start,” Dean answers, dragging his gaze to her twinkling eyes and fiery red waves framing her soft face.

Cristina nods, narrowing her eyes in question, and draws a deep breath. “How d’you feel about ice skating?” she asks, and Dean just laughs again.

One hour later, they’ve finished their food, gotten Hot Toddies to-go, and are booting up to skate the rink attached to the brewpub.

“You know,” Dean starts with a side-eye. “I don’t normally put myself in danger for fun.”

Cristina grins and shoulder-nudges him.

She knows very well that Dean’s life is filled with obstacle upon obstacle, wrapped in barbed-wire obstacles. She isn’t there to put him in peril, though. She’s there to show him a night of unfettered joy.

“Relax,” she replies. “You’ll be a pro – I can feel it in my bones.”

They skate out onto the small arena, side-by-side, and Dean doesn’t falter once. On their first lap, Cristina keeps it chill, but she’s almost coming apart at the seams with excitement. Halfway through their second lap, Dean’s much more relaxed, so Cristina flips to skate backwards in front of him.

“May I have this dance?” she asks.

Dean’s gaze is so easy and open. He looks like a big mug of hot cocoa, steaming and warm and comforting.

He reaches for her hips, and she rests her hands on his broad shoulders. The music circles them as they glide, aimlessly and effortlessly, twirling and floating across the ice.

Cristina doesn’t waste time to close the gap between them. Hot cocoa is one of her favorite things. She wants to see if he tastes the way he looks.

When she arches up to take his lips with hers, Dean dips into her. They flow to a stop at the edge of the park, against the rail, lips barely brushing.

His fingers wrap her waist as he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue between her lips, and she gasps.

Cristina’s never kissed anyone or been kissed like this before.

Her breath stutters but she doesn’t pull back as she murmurs a question. “Is this part of your ideal date?” she asks.

Dean nods then reclaims her mouth.

They kiss like that for several moments before a woman skates by and clears her throat loudly. When Cristina takes note, she realizes that her sight is a bit hazy and Dean is really close with one knee between her thighs and his torso flush against hers.

“Maybe we should…” Cristina breathe.

“Yeah,” Dean replies and leads her to a bench to remove their skates, stealing glances at her as they go.

“I’d like to do more of that,” Cristina says, and Dean knows she means kissing. “Since it’s part of your ideal date.”

Dean laughs and blushes, and Cristina thinks that it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever witnessed.

“This is kind of a family show, Cristina,” Dean says as he takes her skates and they move toward the rental counter. “Not sure Mama Bear over there appreciated the act as much as we do.”

“I have a hotel room,” Cristina offers, and Dean looks down at her in surprise.

“That right?” he asks, turning to face her fully, towering over her deliciously as she stands sock-footed with a Hot Toddy in each mitten. “And why would you take a stranger back to your room?”

He isn’t suspicious of her motives. Dean’s concerned for her well-being. This woman is just putting herself out there for anyone to take advantage of her.

Cristina smiles. “You aren’t just anyone, Dean,” she replies.

Dean can’t argue with her, though he doesn’t know why; she’s gotten to him, as well. Hell, he might even take her back to the bunker if it came down to it, and he’s never taken a woman back to the bunker.

He thinks maybe he should ask the question – _what is happening?_ Instead, he goes through the motions of putting his boots back on, helping Cristina with hers, and accepting the last of his now not-so-Hot Toddy.

They finish their drinks and toss the empty cups in the recycle bin before clasping hands and wandering down the block.

Dean feels like he’s watching a movie. There are those little Christmas lights twining every branch of every tree, carolers singing somewhere in the distance, and that hustle and bustle everyone talks about being a sign of the season.

“Here we are,” she says, smiling up at him.

They’re stopped in front of a boutique hotel that Dean didn’t know existed. _It’s all part of the magic_ , he thinks as he smiles.

“I’d love it if you came inside with me,” she says, twisting her fingers with his.

Dean takes in the flush of her ivory skin, the sparkle in her eyes. She looks like an angel – or at least what he thought angels looked before he met one.

“You sure?” he asks, smoothing her hair out of her face and lightly pinching her chin between his thumb and finger.

Cristina nods. “I’m sure.”

Dean ducks down to kiss her under the stars as snowflakes gently begin to fall. He looks up into the sky, blinking, crystal flakes settling on his long lashes. He’s breathtaking, and Cristina has to gasp to catch hers.

Then he looks back down at her and nods slowly before turning toward the door, their hands clasped tight to one another.

Cristina giddily leads him through the double glass doors. The concierge nods a greeting and arches his brow as they pass through the lobby to the elevator. Dean thinks he looks familiar.

Alone in the car, Cristina backs Dean against the wall and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him all the way to the fifth floor. She presses into him, straddling one slanted leg as he slumps against the wall, letting her hands and tongue wander.

The car is blessedly slow, and she gets to explore more than before on the ice.

“You taste good,” she murmurs as the elevator comes to a stop, her fists twisting the lapels of his coat.

“You too,” Dean answers with a grin. His gaze flicks to the opening doors before he pecks her lips then stands up straight, guiding her back and turning her to face the doors.

They’re both giggling as they make their way to her door.

Once inside, Cristina hooks fingers over the waist of Dean’s jeans and pulls him into her, wraps her other hand around the back of his neck, and they kiss deeper than before. She moans into his mouth, groans when his fingertips graze her bare waist under her blouse.

Dean maneuvers them so he’s able to sit back on the little sofa in her suite. He pulls Cristina onto his lap, never breaking contact with her lips. She slots her knees on either side of his hips and settles in for the long haul.

She makes some of the most content little sounds he’s heard in months. She’s enjoying herself so thoroughly, and not because she’s drunk or putting on a show. Dean basks in the bare honesty of her enjoyment of that very moment – that she revels in every moment. 

“This is the best,” she whispers around his lips and grinds over him. “You like it too, right?”

Dean smiles into the crook of her neck, arching his own as she peppers kisses and nips along the thick muscle. “Oh, yeah,” he breathes. “I like it, too.”

Dean’s beyond caring what she is or what’s happening or if this is even real because it’s the purest _fun_ he’s had since he was a kid – before Mary was burned on the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery and John lost his mind looking for the demon that did it.

But Dean’s not going to think about any of that right now.

He squeezes her hips and slides his hands up the curve of her waist, one under her blouse and the other to the back of her neck to guide her. He holds her in place as he takes her mouth again, humming and swallowing her sighs.

“Dean,” her breath shakes that one-syllable word. “Is this part of your ideal date?” she asks, pulling back to look him in the eye.

She looks sincere and desperate at the same time – blue eyes with a wide black center, cheeks pink, lips kiss-swollen. Dean wants to give her the moon; so, yeah, this is his ideal date.

For Cristina, Dean isn’t as easy to read as a child, although he’s gotten easier as the night’s worn on. She wants to be sure she’s giving him what he truly wants.

He nods, holding her gaze. “Yeah,” he says. “With you, it is.”

He sets back to kissing her as she joyfully explores his body, removes layer upon layer of clothing, slowly sinking over him. They slide to the floor as Dean frees her of her blouse and her skirt. He lays her on her back to shimmy her stockings over her hips and thighs and, one-by-one slips the silk over her toes.

He kisses his way from her ankles to her knees and between her legs, licks a wet stripe over the damp satin there.

Cristina props herself on her elbows and watches him. She watches Dean take pride and joy in kissing and licking her to pleasure. She laughs a gasp as he peels her satin underwear from her body and seals his lips over her hot center.

Minutes tick into an hour, then two, then four.

As the sun begins to rise, Cristina and Dean are exhausted and twisted around one another. They fall into a slumber at dawn, awaking only when Dean’s phone buzzes across the room.

Cristina gathers the white linens around her as she sits up to watch Dean take the call. It’s Sam, he caught a case, he wants to know if Dean’s in. Dean agrees.

“Be there in 15,” he rumbles before disconnecting the call.

After a deep breath, Dean dresses quickly. She watches his body transform from relaxed and sated to firm and rigid. Then Dean turns to her.

Cristina is sleep-rumpled, her wild, red mane is a mess, and she looks utterly satisfied.

Dean grins and crosses the room, knees onto the bed next to her, grips the back of her neck, lacing fingers through her silky tresses, and presses a warm kiss to her temple.

“Gotta go,” he whispers.

Cristina nods and sighs as he reluctantly pulls away.

“Thanks for sharing your ideal date with me, Dean,” Cristina says as Dean shrugs into his coat and checks his pockets for keys and wallet.

He looks her in the eye one last time. “Thank you,” he says pointedly.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cristina says, and he nods, turning to the door and twisting the knob.

After the door closes behind Dean with a soft click, Cristina hears a heavy sigh.

“You’re in a lotta trouble,” the other Zanna says, and Cristina rolls her eyes playfully.

She throws the covers back and climbs from the bed, tossing her hair back, and reaching for the complimentary robe.

“Worth it,” she declares as she turns to face her comrade head-on.

He purses his lips. “I figured you say that – just wanted to prepare you.”

She nods. “If anyone understands, it’s you, Sully.”

The suite disappears from around them and they’re back home. Cristina looks down at her apparel, gone are the clothes of a 30-something businesswoman; in their place are her typical striped and glittery threads for playtime with her young appointees.

“I ran a little interference with the big boss,” Sully says with a shrug.

Cristina giggles before slinging an arm around her friend. “You’re too good to me, Sully.”

The pair walks off to their quarters where Cristina will surely be reprimanded.

But, as she said, Dean Winchester’s Merry Christmas was worth it.


End file.
